


Wounds

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 20:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6722185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of imaginexhobbit's: Imagine Thranduil letting you see his scars in shame but you assure him it means nothing as you show him your own scars from battles</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wounds

Thranduil lounges in his favorite chair that is ornately decorated with embroidered tree branches and leaves. His crown is resting on the end table, forgotten and left in an unfamiliar space. The ornate crowns that line Thranduil's room has a spot missing for that forgotten branch crown. One of his thin hands cups his face, exhaustion evident in the way his brows furrow and the corners of his lips are turned downward. The Dwarves’ visit has taken more out of him than Thranduil would admit.

You tentatively approach his seat not wanting to disturb one of the rare times Thranduil has to himself. No matter how stealthily you approach he somehow always senses your presence, accustomed to the unevenness in your steps because of your slight limp.

“General. Don't you have business to attend to?” It's phrased like a question, but you know by now, after years of working underneath Thranduil, that it is a rhetorical question.

“Yes, I do, but I thought I should check on you.” Everyone has been gossiping about the Dwarves and the uncharacteristic exhibition of anger Thranduil supposedly expressed. If it truly is that serious you know for a fact that he'd be overthinking it now. If it made people don't his authority and if it made him look weak.

“I don't need someone to watch over me like some child.” His voice taking an unnecessarily, and unintentionally, rough tone.

“Yet,” You quip at him, “you're acting like one.” Thranduil doesn't respond, eyes closed as he listens to the sound of his heart beating a thousand miles an hour, intensifying his headache. “What is it you're not telling me?”

“It is my concern, not yours. Stop prying where you're not wanted.”

With that you go to leave, fed up and wanting to bash his head in with the abandoned crown. You've worked tirelessly under his command since you're skills began to rival Legolas’, but he still treats you like someone unworthy of his time. as if you're just insignificant warrior of his inner circle, replaceable despite the years of blood and sweat that went into your position.

Your hand stops above the door and you go back around to Thranduil’s lounge. His face is partially cover by his hair. The platinum blonde strands cascade like a waterfall over his face down to the middle of his chest. It's now or never.

“I've tried not prying into your business. I thought if I worked for you long enough maybe, maybe you'd open up, trust me like I trust you.” Thranduil just stares at you from under his lashes, attention fully on you. “But, apparently, waiting for you isn't going to be enough. What is it going to take for you to trust me?”

“We'll see if you pass first.” Thranduil finally turns to fully face you, his hair drifting to cover his shoulder.

His clear skin slowly disappears revealing damaged flesh that covers one of his cheeks and a cloudy eye. Naturally, the change in appearance strives you. Not only does Thranduil's face look different but so is his demeanor. The composure that you've become accustomed to seeing is now a look of unabashed disgust. Both with himself and with the shock in your eyes.

“I got my answer.” Just as quickly as the scar appeared it is covered once again. “Leave.”

You stand firm. Swiftly you undo your clothing letting it fall to the ground with a soft shuffling. Thranduil's eyes coldly examine you, waiting to see what you're doing, completely unaffected by your partial nudity. Your old scars are faded and closely resemble your skin color, just a shade or two lighter. But your new scars in varying stages of healing, some bright red and other scabbed over, are reflected in the light of the fireplace. You are uncomfortable under Thranduil's hard gaze. To distract you, you focus on the warmth on your near bare back and steady yourself.

“I don't think you do.” You turn to expose your largest scar. It goes from your left shoulder to the top of your right hip. The skin around it still tight. “This one happened shortly after I became a captain with my old platoon. I got comfortable, cocky even, and left myself open. It didn't take long for the Orcs to take advantage of that. My men blamed themselves for not protecting me better.” You turn back to face Thranduil, his face still stiff but you see the corner of his mouth slightly down turned.

“What I'm trying to show you is that I get it.” Thranduil raises an eyebrow so you correct yourself. “Not perfectly, but I understand why you hide your scars. It's a reminder of your mistakes. Plus, no one looks seeing them. You have appearance to keep up as King like I had to as captain so..I understand. But, don't think that I respect you any less or that I see you as anything other than the King that has kept us safe for all these years.”

Having said your piece and feeling like it's your time to leave you redress and exit with the tops of your cheeks burning in embarrassment. That night you can barely sleep. Wondering if you said the right thing or if you should have kept quiet. Eventually there is no point in trying to go to sleep. The new day has crept up on you like fog.

With your heart in your throat you knock on Thranduil's door. A curt “come in” as response, you enter Thranduil's room. He's dressed to accentuate his tall, lean body with the same crown from the day before on his head. Unlike the day before any exhaustion or stress he may be feeling is absent from his presence. Silently he walks through the door out to take care of his daily tasks.

For a moment Thranduil pauses to say, “Thank you, Y/N.”

A smile breaks out on your face. “My pleasure.”


End file.
